


Today's Horoscope

by FernDavant



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Horoscopes, Pre-Relationship, ill-planned hobbies, the Doctor isn't good at humans, whouffaldi ficchal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6264838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FernDavant/pseuds/FernDavant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor has decided to take up making horoscopes and star charts. Unfortunately, Clara is focus of his star charts, and the Doctor's being a bit too enthusiastic about the whole thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today's Horoscope

“What’s your date of birth?” the Doctor asked before Clara had made her way completely inside the TARDIS. The Doctor was scribbling on the chalkboard in one corner. He hadn’t even bothered to turn his head towards Clara.

“Nope,” Clara replied brusquely. “Not doing this. Last time you tried to give me a present, I had to wrestle a sabre-tooth tiger away from the Easter ham.”

“I helped get rid of the claw marks in your father’s kitchen. It turned out alright.”

That wasn’t the way Clara remembered it. “You know my birthday. Or rather, it’s come up before. If you don’t remember it, that’s not my problem.”

“I’m not going to give you a present,” the Doctor grouched. “It’s pretty clear you’re never grateful when I do. I’m trying to do your horoscope.”

Clara walked over to the Doctor, trying to make eye contact with him. “Are you okay? Have you been possessed?”

“No. Why?” the Doctor asked, turning towards her, frowning. He _seemed_ fine. He looked like an awkward space alien with questionable sartorial choices and an increasingly uncontrollable head of hair. So, normal, then.

“Because astrology is the exact sort of thing you’d normally rail against as being complete rubbish. The sort of thing only conmen and people trying to sell you something do,” Clara said, still peering at him a little skeptically.

“You’re always telling me I should do something when you’re not here, so I decided to pick up a hobby. It _is_ complete rubbish, but it’s very complicated rubbish, and it’s got planets in it. I like planets.”

“Can’t you make someone else’s horoscope?” Clara whined.

“I’ve not got any other friends,” the Doctor said sulkily. This was incredibly depressing, and also not true, but Clara let him get away with the lie. “And I was walking around London people for their astrological signs and dates of birth, and it didn’t seem to go down well with anyone. It used to go down quite well back in my UNIT days.”

“How have you never been slugged in the face for doing that sort of thing?” Clara asked with a sigh.

“I have been slugged in the face for doing that sort of thing,” the Doctor confirmed. “Just not recently. Now, what’s your birthday?”

“Will you promise me you’ll stop walking around London asking people bizarre questions?”

The Doctor looked crest-fallen at that.

“For the rest of the week,” Clara conceded with a sigh. “Will you promise me you’ll stop walking around London asking people bizarre questions _for the rest of the week_?”

“What if it’s important?”

“If it’s really important, you’ll let me come with you.”

“Deal,” the Doctor nodded. “Birthday. Now. Please?”

“23rd November,” Clara sighed.

“Year?” the Doctor coaxed, raising his eyebrows.

“1986.”

“Time?”

Clara blinked. “What?”

“What time were you born? It provides more accurate star charts.”

“I have no idea what time I was born, Doctor,” Clara growled. “How am I supposed to know that?”

“Well, you were there!” the Doctor protested.

“I don’t remember,” Clara snapped. “I suspect I was rather busy.”

“Doing what? You were a baby. Not exactly a packed schedule.”

“Well, I reckon I was quite busy being born. Despite my memory being a bit hazy, I suspect that whole thing’s quite stressful.”

“Well, not half as stressful for you as it was for your mum,” the Doctor pointed out.

Clara pinched the bridge of her nose and made her way out of the TARDIS. “Alright, you know what? Show up again when you’re actually looking to travel and not going to read my palm.”

“Horoscope!” the Doctor corrected. “You know, it’s probably on your birth certificate. Where do you keep that?”

“Far away from you,” Clara shouted back, slamming the door of the TARDIS and walking back into her living room.

The TARDIS vworped away, was gone for approximately a minute, and then vworped back into view.

The Doctor popped out, “3:37 pm.”

“You didn’t,” Clara started accusingly. “Please tell me you didn’t gatecrash my birth.”

“I didn’t gatecrash your birth,” the Doctor confirmed, offended. “Don’t be stupid. I broke into the register office.”

“Boy, that’s a relief,” Clara grumbled sarcastically.

“And, I got you two presents,” the Doctor said, holding up two fingers. “One’s a bit rubbish, sorry in advance.”

“Thought you weren’t giving me any more presents. Thought you said I’m ungrateful.”

“I reconsidered my position,” the Doctor said, reaching into his jacket pocket and passing her a sheet of paper with a flourish. “Present one, another copy of your birth certificate.”

“Put it back,” Clara snapped dourly. “I’m guessing it’s the original, and I’m not going to have you accidentally mucking about with my records. Next thing you know, the NHS will say I don’t exist.”

The Doctor mumbled something about her being ungrateful, then brought out a whole sheaf of papers. “Present two, it’s your horoscope. I’ve given you both a very specific one based on the exact position of all the planets when you were born, and then a detailed horoscope for today in particular. I also drew all the planets and the way they were intersecting for both horoscopes, just in case you want to check my work. I’m quite proud with how realistically I shaded Jupiter. Jupiter’s Sagittarius’ ruling planet. Look at the eye of Jupiter! Look at all the colors!”

The Doctor flipped through the sheaf of papers and gestured at a particular point on the star chart. Clara glanced at it, glanced back at the Doctor. Gave a half-hearted nod.

“Can we do planets now?” Clara asked.

“Aren’t you going to read it? I worked very hard on it,” the Doctor said, nodding eagerly at the charts.

The shy smile on the Doctor’s face told Clara that she couldn’t merely ignore this. Clara took the sheaf of paper and browsed through it. It was much like all of the other astrological rubbish she’d read in her life, albeit with some fancy illustrations, and a writing style that she could only describe as being distinctively the Doctor’s.

_You should consider not travelling with me on Wednesday’s, as Wednesday’s not one of your really lucky days. Saturday’s a lucky day. I like Saturday. We should try Saturday._

_You’re impulsive and ambitious. Well, I could have told you that. But there’s something to do with fire here. Have you tried setting more things on fire? Do you smoke? Is it saying you’re a smoker? Smoking is really not good for your health, Clara._

Clara let out a deep breath, plastered her best smile on her face, and looked back up at the Doctor who was staring at her expectantly, chewing on his thumb. He raised his eyebrows, clearly trying to coax a response from her.

“This is great, Doctor!” Clara lied.

The Doctor grinned broadly. “Well, it’s all complete tosh, of course, but you know, just the sort of things you humans like.”

That smile was becoming strained. “Yeah, well. It was definitely…diverting. Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” the Doctor replied in a way that indicated he was quite proud with himself. “Now we can do planets.”

“Return my birth certificate first,” Clara chastised, hitting him with it.

“Alright, alright,” the Doctor grumbled.

~~

If the horoscope thing had been a one-time deal, Clara would have written it off as another one of the Doctor’s eccentricities. He was easily distracted and frequently would become deeply obsessed with something before just seeming to forget the concept entirely mere days later.

But he wasn’t getting over this. Clara had a drawer full of star charts that was growing increasingly full, as she couldn’t quite bear to throw them away. He’d clearly taken a lot of time on them, carefully drawing out all the planets, gamely interpreting predictions, and only occasionally accidently writing something insulting.

But she was also getting daily texts from him too, like he was one of those mid-2000s text services you could subscribe to. Except, of course, those managed to run-up your phone bill, usually had an option, somehow, for you to unsubscribe, and weren’t quite so, well, Doctor-y.

Also, they tended to come to you in the morning, not at all hours of the day, sometimes when the day it was predicting was over.

Speak of the devil. 7:56 PM. New text.

_Be imaginative and talk to people. But not too imaginative. And don’t talk too much to people. That could get you into trouble, apparently. But, you tend to be good at the talking to people bit, so I’d say err on the side of chattiness._

Clara sighed, turned her phone screen off, and decided that the next time she saw the Doctor, they were going to have a talk.

Unfortunately, she’d just seen the Doctor today. It was going to be a long week.

~~

Thursday-

_Today seems pretty big on the travelling. I’m not using this as an excuse to take you somewhere, but if the star charts say travelling, I think, maybe, you should keep the option for travelling open. Call if you want._

Friday-

_It doesn’t look like today will be a good day at work. Maybe take a raincheck? Is that an option? I don’t want you upsetting the adolescent pudding brains if you go into a sudden strop like yesterday. It might have detrimental psychological effects._

Saturday-

_If you go on a date today, it will end well. Or not well. I can’t remember what date it is where you are, so this information might be out of date (hah!). Don’t date an Aries, though. Not for anything the star chart says, I just think their constellation looks silly._

Sunday-

_Try not to be upset. Well. Does this mean you’re being stroppy again? Are you cross with me? Why would you be cross with me? I’ve been doing well. I’ve got the cards, and I’ve been using them._

Monday-

_Take as many risks as you want today. That’s what the stars say. That’s not me. Honestly, not entirely sure I’m reading this right at all, but I popped round to Venus today, and it looked quite nice. Thought you ought to know._

Tuesday-

_I finished today’s horoscope, you will be proud to know! Take a chance on something in your life. Anyway, I’ll give you December’s chart this Wednesday._

_I’ve worked up a whole star chart for December. I know it’s April, but I popped forward in time, and, you know, I thought…anyway, today’s horoscope is…I’ve forgot to do today’s horoscope. Will text later._

_Those last two texts might have been sent in the wrong chronological order. Hazards of time travel._

Wednesday-

_I don’t know if this horoscope will get there before I do, but it’s good to have a paper trail. In a manner of speaking. Anyway, something troubling will occur today, and you should remember to handle it with the good qualities attached to your star sign, and not the negative qualities attached to your star sign. So, I think that means, don’t set anything on fire._

~~

“Stop.” Clara was sat on her couch when the Doctor popped out of the TARDIS. She was fidgeting with her phone which she held in her hand, the text she’d just received still visible on screen.

The Doctor, almost comically, froze in the doorway of the TARDIS. “What did I do?”

“I meant stop with the horoscopes,” Clara sighed. “Stop doing them. Stop sending them to me. Stop.”

“Why?” the Doctor asked, the look on his face genuinely baffled.

“Because, because,” Clara huffed and made a few frustrated, nearly meaningless hand gestures, “because it’s annoying. Because you don’t believe in it, and I don’t believe in it, so what’s the point? Because I’ve got a drawer full of star charts, and I don’t want them, but I can’t bring myself to throw them away. Because you’re not a seven-year-old, and I’m not sticking the drawing of the twins of Gemini wrestling Leo the lion on my refrigerator just because you think it looks cool.”

Clara felt rather like she’d just kicked a puppy. The Doctor kept his face neutral, but he was slouching now, and not making eye contact, hands stuffed in his pockets like a pouting teenager. There was a general sense that the Doctor had deflated.

“You don’t believe in them, so—wait, you _don’t_ believe in them, do you?”

The Doctor scoffed. “Of course not.” He was very obviously being genuine.

“Right, you don’t believe in them, so why are you even doing them?”

“Whenever I ask for it, and sometimes when I don’t, but when I _need_ it, you always give me advice,” the Doctor explained.

Clara wasn’t quite following. “So, horoscopes are you giving me advice?”

“No,” the Doctor wavered, “Yes. Sort of. Look, I don’t know what kind of advice you need. You don’t really ask me for advice, either. Not friendly advice, at least. You ask me for, ‘Doctor, how should we stop the aliens?’ advice, or ‘Doctor, what setting on the sonic sunglasses do you reckon I should use?’ advice. I can’t give you advice the way you give it to me. I don’t know what you need help with at work, or with your mates, or at the shops, or with your family. But there’s a whole system of fake rules that offer people advice, and all the fake rules are so general, that, at any given time, the advice might be worth _something_. I just thought it’d be nice, you know, if for once, I could help you with your problems with other humans. I thought that it would make our friendship even better if I could help you more with your normal human stuff.”

Clara was quiet for a long moment, unsure how to respond. The Doctor still wasn’t looking at her.

“Plus, have you ever looked at the conjunction of the planets and constellations with Earth from the actual planets and constellations themselves? It’s _spectacular_ ,” the Doctor blurted out suddenly. “So, there’s that.”

“I—“ Clara began, and then thought better of it. “Thank you.”

The Doctor risked a peak at her, and then got a panicked look on his face. “Oh, no. Don’t cry. Your eyes are sort of wobbling. Wobbling leads to watering and then you start leaking emotions. Control your eyes.”

“I’m not going to cry,” Clara protested (and she wasn’t now that she’d set her mind to it, damn him). “And even if I was going to cry, that would be a good cry, for the record. A happy cry.”

“Okay, good crying would be acceptable, but not crying is still my preference.”

“Noted,” Clara acknowledged with a smile slightly more watery than she would have liked. “Look, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t give me advice.”

The Doctor scrunched up his face, uncomprehending.

“Alright, maybe not from anything you say, yeah? But I watch you, and your example—look, you’ve given me loads of advice,” Clara assured. “I’ve learned a lot from you.”

“Couldn’t be good advice,” the Doctor scowled.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Clara tsked, which seemed to shut the Doctor up. “You don’t have to send me horoscopes to prove anything about our relationship, not to me, and not to anyone else.”

 _What is our relationship_, Clara wondered briefly to herself, but she didn’t push it. They’d probably had their quota of emotional honesty for at least the rest of the month.

The Doctor tilted his head, then reached into his pocket, holding out another sheaf of papers to her. “The last, I promise. Take it.”

Clara stood up from the couch, taking the papers from him. Their hands brushed briefly. Clara bit the inside of her lip and tried to pretend that the fluttering feeling in her chest had absolutely nothing to do with this whole thing. The Doctor’s expression had gone unreadable, again, which was absolutely infuriating, as Clara could read him better than anyone else, and yet it was just unfair the way he could turn his whole face off sometimes, leaving Clara to wonder if she was going mad.

“Thank you,” Clara repeated once more.

He made eye contact now, in that way that was just a little too intense, and now Clara was reading whole paragraphs into his expression, still unsure that she wasn’t making the whole thing up. Clara decided that instead of second guessing herself, she’d just stuff the horoscope into her horoscope drawer.

“Do you want to see the conjunctions Sagittarius is making with the planets? You know, from the perspective of the constellation itself.” the Doctor asked.

Clara turned to him, leaning against the desk, giving him a smirk. “Could we open up the TARDIS, let our legs dangle out, and eat sandwiches while we do?”

“Only if they’re pimento cheese sandwiches,” the Doctor said.

“Ugh, pimento cheese,” Clara sniffed.

“I give you all of time and space, and you complain about sandwich spreads?” the Doctor huffed, all mock anger as he ushered her into the TARDIS.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to come. I didn’t even say I wasn’t going to eat the sandwiches. Pimento cheese is acceptable; I just want you to be aware it’s not my preference.”

“Noted,” the Doctor retorted.

The door of the TARDIS shut, and with a great sound a bit like a trumpeting cosmic elephant, disappeared from Clara’s flat.


End file.
